Parenting

Friday, 25 November 2016

This is the third in a series of reflections on significant people in my life during my formative years. I think I may still working through those formative years! The first two are about my dad and my mom.

I've known Irving for over 40 years now. He's married to my mom, but I've always described him first as a friend. One who happens to be married to my mom. He's had a huge impact on my life. His birthday was earlier this month, on the 13th.

Sunday, 25 September 2016

A month ago, I wrote about my dad on his 75th birthday (Oh Father Wither Thou Goest). Unlike him, I do know where my mom is. And not only do we know how to find each other, we regularly and deeply connect. We speak often. Still, you can count on her to hunt me down if I allow these connections to get spaced too far apart! In those instances, she knows that I've typically been working hard taking care of my kids, family, and home. And she deeply appreciates what this is all about.

Everyone should have a parent like my mom. In addition to being a mother, she is a friend, a teacher, and a guide. Someone who is consistently supportive and can listen without judgment. I am the man I am today, in large part because of my mom. And for this, I am profoundly grateful.

Following are a few of the gifts she has given me. Some date to my childhood. All are helpful to me to this very day. They guide my own choices and I pass them along to others as the need arises.

"You can be whatever you want to be, if you want to be it hard enough."

"Imagine the worst thing that could happen. Pretend it's real for a moment. Is is really so bad? Very often, it's not and you'll survive and be ok or better." (Important words for someone who has lived with generalized anxiety!)

Learning for the sake of learning. The importance and beauty of the humanities. Lifelong education.

Watching her transform and evolve from the devoted full-time mom to a full time college student (at 29 the oldest undergraduate at Clark University—extraordinary in the 1970's!) And then on to a accomplished, inspired career as an admired leader in adult education.

Her passion to care for and nurture her children, partners, family, friends, colleagues, and... on more than one occasion, near strangers who would often later become good friends. Here is a persistence and dedication that goes beyond basic compassion.

In all things, there are extremes. Compassion and nurturing can drift toward a need to "fix" others. Sometimes, as hard as it is to watch, people are often best served when they can heal and evolve themselves. I saw how hard she tried to be there for my dad, and I've seen how sometimes she feels to have somehow failed me and my brothers—perhaps because she didn't help him "enough." This is just plain wrong. She did help. It would have been great to have a more fully present father and she did all that she could to encourage that. That didn't work out with him so well. But what she did do was to directly care and nurture me and my brothers in ways wonderful and loving—and that still unceasingly continue. This is her legacy and it continues forward, within me for sure, and I hope with my own children.

This legacy did not arise spontaneously. There is a great lineage of nurturing women in our family: her mom—my grandma Pauline, great grandma Rose, great aunt Helen, and many others with which I'm only vaguely familiar or not familiar at all. They are not forgotten. They reside within me. And so they carry on their good work via her. I'm honored and proud to be part of this lineage. It's a legacy that I whole-heartedly embrace.

Happy Birthday Mom! May this year be one of continued good health and of celebration!

Saturday, 27 August 2016

Today is my Dad's 75th birthday. Wishing him the very best. I just don't know where he is. He does know how to find me.

And the door is open. It has been for a long time. I don't bite. And you are welcome here. It can't hurt to try... though there is a lot of rebuilding work to do. And I've recently come to better see why it may be so challenging for you to walk through that door.

Anyway, regardless of all that, there is much I'm thankful for that you have given me:

Being present at my birth and going to far reaches to make that happen in a time when the medical community and culture did not recognize the great value of being present at and assisting in the birth of your own child.

Imbuing a love for the outdoors and wild places. You never quite ventured into them as far as you wanted. But I have picked up that legacy and taken it much farther. And I'm now passing this connection with wild places on to my own children.

The deep and brilliant intelligence that you have passed on to me. I now understand how that can be, at times, both a curse and a great gift. And I understand how you struggled and suffered with your own parents. Please forgive them if you haven't already. Even partially if that's all you can do for now. They were, like all parents really, just trying to do the best for you with what they knew. It wasn't always a lot, and much of it was misdirected, but I don't believe they had ill intent. I do wonder how they got to be who they were, especially your dad. His family life prior to the years with grandma and you are, I suspect, a lost Scandinavian saga. The keys lie within that story, I'm sure of it. But we can't likely find them anymore. We just have make do and accomplish the best we can with what we have been given. Paradoxically it feels like I've been given an abundance and for this I feel much gratitude. I know that you too did the best you could with your innate resourcefulness with respect to me and my brothers. You have long been forgiven by me.

Happy birthday dad. I hope that, wherever you are on your own journey, you've found peace, inspiration and contentment.

Tuesday, 03 February 2015

Dropping the kids off at school on time is one of our family challenges. Getting everyone out the door (including me), resolving on-the-fly crises, and whatever else randomly comes up can be a challenge. But we are getting better. Jennifer and I do a tightly improvised dance (is such a thing really possible?) each morning moving to get kids, bags, and lunches ready.

Somehow, stop signs, traffic lights and incomprehensible driving behaviour by other parents at the overly congested street for their school conspire to make us pretty much on time—most of the time.

Today was a good one. As long as we beat the morning lineup in the school yard or get there during it, we are good to go.

Audrey gets dropped off: I tell her, "Have a great day, Deputy Mayor!" She beams. She wrote a great speech at the last minute to run for mayor of her class, thanks to the urging of Jennifer. She only lost by two votes against a very popular girl. But she still gets to be Deputy Mayor. Not bad for someone who wasn't even wanting to run. Today is her day to get picked up by her Mom and have an afternoon alone together. She is excited to make coffee cake with Jennifer. I don't need that, but am going to enjoy it anyway.

I walk Claire in. Claire has been having a hard time with kindergarten lately and that is saying a lot for the next coming of the unsinkable Molly Brown. She does well, but the mix of the class is hard for her. Way too many boys (only six girls out or 22 or so kids!). But she is the turnaround artist once again. Only six hugs today as I leave her in class; yesterday I got more than ten. I always tell her she is smart, strong, and the best. Which she is.

Colin is still at home. But he has been picking up a slight bit the past few days. A little less withdrawn and outgoing. He asks me in a cheery voice to troubleshoot a problem with the iPad. He has been able to do some public activities he wouldn't have been able to do in the past few weeks. It's miniscule. Only I am noticing these tiny changes; Jennifer sees them if I point them out. But I see them. I know he will get through this.

Friday, 24 January 2014

I wrote this down one typical day during the summer back in 2011. It's a sample of what my days are like. They've not really changed that much... well, they've likely gotten even more logistically complex!

45 minutes pre-loading car

Start rolling at 8:25 am

Colin to camp

Audrey to pre-school

Claire to "boot camp" swim lessons

Claire to pre-school

Daddy to do some work at Starbucks

Daddy to yoga class and then to lunch at Teri & Yaki (comfort food/sanity maintenance division)

Pick up Audrey at school & take to yoga/theatre camp

More work at Starbucks

Pick up Colin at camp

Run errand at Target

Pick up Audrey at yoga/theatre camp

Audrey & Colin to swim lessons and swim team practice

Go home

Spend at least a half an hour unloading car

Make dinner

Clean up dinner

Put everyone to bed (this can be a marathon in itself)

Optional: fold Matterhorn sized pile of laundry

More work

Pass out

Now that Colin and Audrey are well into their elementary school years, there is a lot also a good amount of time spent helping each with their daily homework and projects each evening. And the day starts earlier since they need to be at school by 7:50 am. Audrey does dive lessons and is on the pre-swim team. Not unlike her brother and sister, Claire is an energetic, willful, smart, graceful and athletic handfull. We need to get her on swim team as soon as possible (later this spring) to channel her energy (which goes primarily toward staying up and partying until 10 or 11 each evening).

At least a couple of times a week, Jennifer and I look at each other and say, "How do we do it?" We're not entirely sure, but we keep tweaking our approach, usually for the better. There's always something new to learn and discover with these guys—both about them and about ourselves. I can't imagine doing anything else.

"Always changing, never twice the same..." (Robert Irwin). One of the beautiful elements of this world. I try to remember it every day. The dirtbagdad is always evolving. Sometime the movement is a few steps back, but in the long view, it's always forward.